


Étoile du Tricherie

by indigo_illusion



Series: The Ruse Gambit [2]
Category: X-Men - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, Alternate Universe - Paris, F/F, F/M, Female Gambit, I don't know why Mercy wound up without one but it's just the way I hear her, Multi, Remy LeBeau female, Thieves Guild, Writing Cajun accents is difficult maybe I shouldn't have bothered, before series, but they're there in the comics so there's that, character backstory
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-02
Updated: 2018-12-09
Packaged: 2019-05-17 10:05:34
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,882
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14830242
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/indigo_illusion/pseuds/indigo_illusion
Summary: Remy is tasked by the Thieves Guild to retrieve a necklace of importance. Mercy warns her not to play around on the trip.Guess what happens?





	1. Family Ambassadors

 

I walk through downtown, avoiding the tourists and eating the beignet Belle threw at me before I left _The Rising Bun_.  I slip into an alley for a moment to charge and destroy the bag the beignet was in. I don’t need to be rolling up to the meeting spot with a bag loudly declaring I was visiting Belle when she was on task and I was supposed to be—well, not pleasuring her in the stock room that’s for sure. Power is very handy for evidence obliteration. 

Despite the detours I get to the  _rendez-vous_ early and sit on the back of a bench, feet on the seat, reviewing the small amount of info I was left. It’s a photo of an  ~~ ugly ~~ – interesting looking blue and gold necklace; but I’m guessing I have to steal it not wear it. 

After a few minutes the blue Ford Fusion pulls up and I slip into the back of the car. Mercy is driving and Henri hands me a thick manila envelope, the type that fastens with a button and string. He has a similar one on his lap. I squeeze in the back next to two flight bags and a clear zippered bag that used to be home to a comforter but instead has a couple of different shirts in it  and a pair of shorts . 

In the envelope is a passport in the name of Amelie Baudin, two traveler’s checks amounting to a couple of thousand Francs, plane ticket to Paris also in the name of Amelie Baudin, and a couple of hundred Francs in bills and coins.

“Please tell me we not pretending to be married,” I say, as I go through the clear plastic bag and pick out a shirt to wear.

Henri laughs, “ _Mais non, petite_ . You and “Marie” here are going to visit your maiden aunt during your Spring Break,” he turns abruptly to face the road as I lift my shirt over my head to change into the baby doll college t-shirt that was among my options in the plastic bag. 

“Some Spring Break,” I remark.

Mercy turns towards the airport, “You and me, sis,” she jokes, “Family ambassadors. Gotta make sure we get the inheritance,  _non_ ?” 

The baby doll tee leaves my mid-riff bare. Henri look slightly uncomfortable. I keep my boots and jeans on, “Sounds good,” I tell her.

“This for you to do,” Henri continues, waving the envelope in his lap that I’d thought must contain Mercy’s credentials.

“Steal de necklace?”

“Get back de necklace,” he corrects.

“Get ba--” 

“Let me finish.”

I put my hands up in supplication then start going through the luggage that has Amelie’s name on the destination tag.

“Our sources say we not de only ones after getting it.”

“Sounds fun,”

“Did not trip for fun, Remy,” Henri says, staunchly, “It an important test. Mer--”

“I’m there to advise and sponsor but not actively participate,” she cuts in, as we merge into the lanes toward the airport parking lot, “Henri will follow in a couple of days unless we’re back before then.”

“Okay.”

Given what’s in the toiletry bag and the book I’d wanted to read six months ago but now don’t give a damn about it looks like they merged a couple of the Go! Bags.  There’s only a couple of changes of clothes, a pair of Pjs and some sexy lingerie. I’m amused for a moment with the idea of Henri deciding what would be put in there, but it was probably Mercy the lingerie looks like something she would choose. I generally find nudity works just as well and is more convenient. 

Henri coughs.

Not being serious enough. Right.

He passes me his phone. There’s a picture of a cute brown haired man walking through a crowded plaza. The picture was probably taken from a balcony at the limit of the photographer’s range because the zoom has made everything a little fuzzy.

“Who dis?” I ask.

“Gerard,” he confirms. I think I’ve heard that name before, “He either Deveraux or Darcineaux. He been around a couple o’places before. Good chance he after de necklace too.”

It’s hard to make out too many defining features of his face but it looks very slim, androgynous almost,  but the jaw is angular. There might be dark streaks in his hair which is short and partly spiked up in a tousled away. Eyes might be light in color as opposed to brown, or say, black and red. 

“Pretty hot.”

Both Henri and Mercy give me the eye—she through the rear-view mirror, him turning to look at me, craning his neck.

“What?” I ask, “He is.”

Henri pinches the bridge of his nose, “Are you even listenin’?”

“What?” I ask, again, with inflection of absolute innocence, “Necklace. Gerard. Serious business. I got it.” 

“You better.”


	2. Flights of Fancy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Remy finds ways to entertain herself during the flight to Paris.

I forgot how boring flights are. The first leg wasn’t so bad. Just a hopper to Philly and  a fairly short layover which mostly involved Mercy daring me to get us free drinks at one of the airport’s wine bars and culminated in us getting into the executive lounge.  Going over the info in Henri’s packet which details a few other potential issues, and where the necklace lives when it’s “at home”.  The original owner, supposedly, at least the furthest back in recent history a man called Herzog.  Good chance he’s trying to retrieve it too, or will once it’s gone.  Gone just like the notes I poompf in the bathroom before we get on the next plane. 

So, we just have to be sure that no one realizes it was me; but that’s exactly what the Guild teaches. Get in, get out, leave no trace, or if possible blame someone else you need to get out of the way.

Now we’re on the  transatlantic haul and playing poker on the seat back video game only goes so far. It’s much lame compared to playing with a group of actual people.  You can’t exactly see tells from names on a screen. If they even real— could just be a computer figment. The movies they have don’t appeal to me. Mercy and I both sleep for a little while and then I amuse myself flirting with the cabin crew who have little to do while most everyone is asleep. 

“This is why it’s hard for me to believe you’re taking things seriously,” Mercy says, opening her eyes when I come back with two free alcoholic beverages and a wink from the flight attendant.

“We not on the clock yet,” I point out, “and it was okay when you suggested it in the airport.”

She rolls her eyes at me from the window seat, “It’s time to be more professional,” she says.

I give her a sideways look sipping on one of the drinks. She tries to take the other one away from me but I’m too fast have to work on it though some of it gets spilled.

“It needs to be out of your system,” she says when I relent and hand her the one I didn’t drink out of, “We had our fun. Now,” she says, “Talk to me about how you plan to pick up the gift.”

I must smirk.

“There’s no guarantee Gerard or Herzog go your way depending on which it comes down to—you know what they say about Europeans,” there’s at least some humor in the statement. 

I  shake my head, “I go bot’ ways no guarantee someone doesn’t  too.” 

“So, your game works on horny school kids and stewards but this is another of our profession like Gerard, or someone like Herzog who is looking after the necklace wouldn’t have experienced something like that before and be jaded to it.” 

“ _Cherie,_ are you trying ta get me to hit on you to prove how good I am?” 

Mercy pinches the bridge of her nose, “Are you trying to wind me up?”

“Wind up how? Am I gon’ have to tell my brudder ‘bout dis?”

“Your brother?” she says, “What about your fiancee? If you do _anything._ _ **One**_ _thing_ to jeopardize this whole Montague and Capulet fix that your father has set up not even your pretty eyes will save your pretty neck.” 

“To counter,” I say, raising a finger and pausing while I finish the drink.

“Go ahead.”

“Just because a guy has been with men, busty chicks, Asian chicks … sheep,” I shrug, “Don’t mean I can’t get him to come to my side, because, please,” I wave a hand up and down myself, “Also, Belle an’ I have an understanding. We both have demanding families an’... jobs dat require us to do certain t’ings also and if for dat is okay. We do what need to be done and den go back to each odder when we married. An’ what happens now we not married yet. We fool around some times wid each odder and also with, well, odders.”

Mercy closes her eyes for a moment. There are times her expression is so very much like Henri’s, “That is actually very mature,” she concedes, slowly, “If you can keep with that—I mean, you’re  _ young _ , Amelie. It’s good to have ideals and ideas but things aren’t going to be the way you think. Marriage is different.”

“Dis marriage political,” I remind her, “Yours different for sure.” 

“Yes,” she says, “It is, and we’ve both been at this a lot longer than you and emotions are complicated and just because you have an understanding now doesn’t mean it’ll last and doesn’t give you free rein to screw around whenever you want to.” 

I roll my eyes, “You see me screwing around?” I ask her, “I got offered mile high not to long ago and didn’t.”

“Congratulations,” she says, sarcastically, “Let’s give you an award because you didn’t sleep with someone.”

“My point,” I tell her, “Is dat I’m not a stupid whore. I can keep t’ings out of my pants.” 

“My point,” she continues, “is that this and other things don’t need to be screwed up because you’re screwing around.” She seems to want to say something else but doesn’t.

“Finish your thought,” I press, “Let’s get dis _all_ out.” 

“We don’t need another Etienne,” she chokes out. Feeling guilty about it at least but how dare she—that wasn’t—but she wasn’t there. All of that boils down to my word as the only surviving witness. We’ve kept things quiet and low so far. I don’t need to wake everyone around us to our “super secret plans” by going off on her and possibly using the wrong name out loud enough to get attention. 

“No witty come back?” she asks, half-heartedly. What she said went too far which she knows and knew it before I made her explain it.

“I don’t want dat,” I shake my head, “Dat’s de last t’ing I want. I keep hearing all ‘bout how I’m not takin’ t’ings right but dis my way. I got dis. Is fine. You guys want to test me or do whatever den dat’s fine. Let me do it how I do it.”

“Fine,” she says, “Just leave me alone until we land,” and she closes her eyes and goes back to sleep.


End file.
